


Last Drabble Writer Standing, 2019

by SolarMorrigan



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-11-24 15:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18167105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: Collection of writing for the 2019 00Q Last Drabble Writer Standing event





	1. Week 1

**Author's Note:**

> Week one prompt: 100 words, Just around the corner  
> Title: Warmth  
> Summary: Q isn't built for winter weather  
> Warnings: None  
> Full post with everyone's drabbles for week one [here at the MI6 Cafe!](http://mi6-cafe.tumblr.com/post/183492282792/the-first-week-of-writing-for-ldws-participants)

Q could hear Bond chuckling, mocking him every bit as much as the wet snow spattering the bedroom window. Oh, he could laugh; bloody field agent was used to subzero temperatures. Q, on the other hand, was not built for this sort of weather.

“You know, Q,” Bond said, and there was tangible fondness beneath the teasing, his voice leagues warmer than the air outside, “spring is just around the corner.”

Q cast a withering glare, unamused from beneath the extravagant nest of blankets he’d constructed on their bed. “Shut up, James. Just come over here and keep me warm.”


	2. Week 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week two prompt: 200 words, seven paragraphs, "just one shot"  
> Title: It's a Date  
> Summary: Q gives Bond some incentive to make it home in one piece  
> Warnings: None  
> Full post with everyone's week two drabbles [here at the MI6 Cafe!](http://mi6-cafe.tumblr.com/post/183648471392/the-second-week-of-writing-for-ldws-participants) (A lot of them are also up here on Ao3, go have a look)

“You should go to dinner with me,” Bond said, “when I get back.”

“And you should focus on the matter at hand, 007. Try to be professional,” Q chided, more amused than anything; it wasn’t as though he wouldn’t say yes eventually, but he liked to make Bond wait for it.

A few shots rang out over the comm, corresponding to the guards Q could see drop down on the security feed he had running onscreen. “I am focused,” Bond insisted. “I’m capable of multitasking, you know.”

There was a sharp reply ready on Q’s tongue, but it was lost when a flurry of activity occurred onscreen; an unexpected group of guards, an alarming amount of gunfire, and a heart-pounding few moments of silence while Q searched the security feed for Bond.

“007, report.”

“Uninjured. Penned in,” Bond’s voice came through, quiet but steady; there was a brief pause. “Low on ammunition. I have one bullet.”

Q was already typing, looking for a way, any way, to get Bond out. “Well, you’d better make it back. It’s my understanding that I should have dinner with you,” Q murmured, still searching. “I’ll give you just one shot, 007. Don’t waste it.”


	3. Week 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week Three Prompt: 250 words; acrostic format, spelling out "resurrection;" theme is resurrection  
> Title: Home Again  
> Summary: Bond's priorities have shifted over time, just a little.  
> Warnings: None.  
> Full post with all of the drabbles [here](http://mi6-cafe.tumblr.com/post/183815512152/the-third-week-of-writing-for-ldws-participants) at the MI6 Cafe (there are also quite a few here on Ao3 if you look!)

Really, Bond had stopped enjoying the parties a long time ago.

Events like the ones he often infiltrated were filled people who  _wanted_.

Someone was always wanting for his attention, always fawning and smarming and insinuating themselves into his space.

Unctuous in the extreme, they were unpleasant and false.

Repeatedly, though, Bond catered to them, listened to and flattered them. Whatever it took to gain their confidence, their secrets, their assistance – whatever they had to offer.

Realistically, it was the easiest way to get the job done.

Even so, the thrill of successful falsehoods had worn thin.

Could he do it another way? Were there options that didn’t involve the suppression of his every instinct and desire to the point where he felt more like a ghost watching his own animated body interact with others? Likely. And likely, they were higher risk.

The mission came first, though. Every time. And Bond would kill himself, body and soul, to complete the mission. Besides that, a lower risk meant a higher chance he could come home.

It wasn’t until Bond was on his way to that home that he began to feel himself again.

Only when he reached home did it really feel like he began to inhabit his own body again.

Not until he had Q in his arms, held against him, wrapped around him, grounding him and reminding him of who he was and who he was allowed to be, did Bond really feel like he’d come alive again.


	4. Week 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week four prompt: 300 words, [photo prompt](http://mi6-cafe.tumblr.com/post/183984847942/the-fourth-and-final-week-of-writing-for-ldws)  
> Title: Sun, Sea, and Spies  
> Summary: Luxury holiday spots are all well and good until the weapons come out.  
> Warnings: None.  
> Click the prompt link to see everyone else's amazing drabbles for week four!

Truly, this was lovely. The fresh, salt smell of the sea, the bright sunshine nearly tangible in the air, the cool breeze that wound its way through the little covered tables, the soothing hush of waves against the shore, Bond’s hand over Q’s where it rested on the tabletop, his thumb stroking soft circles into Q’s wrist.

Lovely, lovely, lovely.

It was so nice, Q could almost relax.

Almost.

“You know, I’d like to go on a real holiday someday.”

Bond sighed, just to the side of dramatic. “There’s no pleasing you, is there? I take you somewhere exotic, bring you to a nice resort, get you lunch…”

“Get me shot at.”

“Fairly certain I’d remember if there had been shooting.”

Q leaned in, murmuring into Bond’s ear like he was imparting some teasing secret. “The man at your eight o’ clock with a conspicuous bulge in his pocket suggests we’re _about_ to be shot at.”

“Perhaps he’s just happy to see you,” Bond suggested, though he knew Q’s judgment was trustworthy.

Pulling back, Q cocked a desperately unimpressed eyebrow at Bond, but was ignored in favor of the new man approaching their table, hand resting not-quite-casually at his hip.

“Well,” Bond reached over with one hand to tilt Q’s head towards him, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he grasped under the table for his weapon with his other hand, “what’s a holiday without a little adventure?”

Q frowned. “I really do hate you sometimes,” he said, but Bond could see him squaring himself up for the fight ahead, ready to go through whatever was needed to complete their mission.

Bond smirked against Q’s cheek, fond and proud, his attention still on their potential assailants, but amused by his lover all the same. “I love you too, Q.”


	5. Week 2 Rejects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually ended up writing two other drabbles for week 2's prompt (200 words, seven paragraphs, "just one shot") and I'm still kind of fond of the ideas themselves, even though I don't think they came out quite as I wanted them to, and since a few other people posted some of their rejected ideas, I thought I might, too. **Warning in the first one for major character death**
> 
> (These aren't really edited, either, sorry about that)

Seven months ago, James and Q had finally found a house that suited both of their specifications. (And whatever didn’t suit them, they would modify.)

Six months ago, James had asked Q to marry him. (Six months ago, Q had said _yes.)_

Five weeks ago, Q had brought home a third cat while wearing the most pitiful expression James had ever seen on him. (They kept the cat.)

Four weeks ago, Q hadn’t come home for dinner. He hadn’t come home for breakfast, either. (Four weeks ago, a terror had lodged itself do deeply in James’s heart that he hadn’t yet been able to dig it out.)

Three days ago, it was James and Q’s anniversary. James had looked at some flowers in the window of a shop as he passed by, but had no time to stop. (He told himself this to avoid admitting that the lilies in the shop reminded him too much of the ones that had lain across Q’s casket.)

Two hours ago, Bond had found him. _(Him,_ the bastard with Q’s blood on his hands, whose blood is about to be on James’.)

Now, finger on the trigger, James watches, aims, breathes. Just one shot.

-/-/-

“I think I have just one shot left.”

Q remained still, curled up and muzzy with sleep.

The words had been spoken so quietly, he wasn’t quite sure he’d heard them. Likely he wasn’t _meant_ to hear them.

“One shot at…” the sound of Bond’s voice was a mere suggestion, breath against the back of Q’s neck, “hell if I know. Something good, maybe.”

Doubtless, Bond would never say those things to Q in the light, but here in the dark of their bedroom, sleepy, sated, wrapped in blankets and weighed down with cats – here, it was safe to speak.

Bond’s arms tightened around Q’s middle, pulling him tighter to Bond’s chest while he feigned a deeper level of sleep than he was really in. “You’re my last shot, Q.”

The words echoed in Q’s chest as a lonely ache, and it was all he could do not to turn in Bond’s arms then, promise him loyalty, promise him happiness, promise him anything so he would know that this last shot wouldn’t be wasted. Instead, he waited until he felt Bond relax into sleep before covering Bond’s hand with his own, lacing their fingers together in promise – _I’m with you_.


End file.
